Spectacle (A Young Adult Novel)

by Angie McCullagh

  What was a 16-year-old girl supposed to do with such news?

  Resentment flared, blotting out her excitement. Her mother put her in this situation. A situation she would’ve foreseen if she’d had any long-sightedness at all. Of course one or both of her daughters would try to find her someday. She couldn’t have predicted the Internet, of course, but there were other methods, even that many years ago. Snail mail, for crying out loud. Phone calls.

  The means didn’t really matter, though. The fact was, Emily had located Marilyn and now she didn’t, for the life of her, know what to do with that intelligence.

  21. Shaky Alliance

  “RYAN MCELVOY? HE’S a snooze. A boring prep.”

  “Really?” Trix said. “You think of him as preppy?”

  “He’s on the Stanford train, believe me. A total vanilla,” Marjorie said.

  They walked down the railroad tracks that snaked along the ship canal where fishing boats docked. It made Trix stupidly happy to hear Ryan described as a “total vanilla.”

  For once, her skin was calm as water on a still day, not at all itchy. She smoked her cigarette and tramped along, a salty breeze in her face.

  They passed a homeless man pushing, through the mud, a grocery cart full of empty cans, a dirty sleeping bag, a bent bike wheel.

  “You don’t like McElvoy, do you?” Marjorie asked, kicking a beer bottle hard against a metal rail. It shattered and she laughed.

  “No,” Trix said. “Hell, no. But I think Emily does.”

  “Yeti?”

  Irritation flared in Trix’s gut. She and Emily weren’t on the best terms right then, but it didn’t mean Trix wanted people trashing her. “Her name’s Emily.”

  “Oh, whoa! Didn’t mean to diss your friend. She’s vanilla too, by the way.”

  Emily wasn’t, actually, vanilla. But she could be on the pious side.

  Trix and Marjorie wandered down to the canal’s edge and tossed their cigarette butts in. The water was greasy with oil and reflected the huge hulls of fishing boats that would soon be sailing up to Alaska.

  “Who do you like?” Trix asked.

  “Everyone,” Marjorie said. “And no one. Which is to say, I’ll sleep with anyone, but no one gets to have my heart.”

  Sad, Trix thought. But it was what she liked about Marjorie, too. There was something inaccessible about her. Something that could not be tamed.

  “Ever?”

  “Never.”

  Trix felt like a marshmallow compared to Marjorie. She knew she seemed tough on the outside, but her trampiness and anger hid the goo between her ribs.

  “You’re one of a kind, Marjorie King.”

  Marjorie laughed—a loud, joyous rumble. “I know.”

  They each lit new cigarettes and walked the steel rails of the tracks, balancing like little kids on beams, with their arms out. They slipped and laughed and got back up, both happy to have found someone to relate to. Neither knowing yet that this new friendship was going to take them places they shouldn’t be treading.

  22. Flying Solo

  ONE EVENING, A few days before Halloween, Emily’s dad and Melissa sat the girls down in the living room and announced they were going to Vancouver for the weekend. “A getaway we badly need,” Melissa said.

  A getaway from what? Emily wanted to ask. All you do is hang around drinking smoothies and green tea and playing on your computer. But, instead, Emily said, “That sounds nice.”

  “We trust we can leave you girls here alone for three nights,” Bob Lucas boomed.

  Kristen was replacing the laces on a pair of sneakers. “Of course.”

  Emily chimed in, “We’ll only throw a couple of parties. With no more than three kegs each. Promise!”

  Raising his eyebrows and shaking his head, her dad said, “We’ll be calling every night.”

  She wondered if her dad had ever gone on weekend trips with her mom. Over to the Gorge or up into the mountains or the coast. Driving the famous getaway station wagon.

  “We’ll be good,” Kristen said.

  “As usual,” Emily added.

  “If anything comes up, you can always call Claudia,” Melissa said. Claudia was a scarily fit, sixty-something woman who lived a couple blocks away. She was tan and sinewy, with pure white hair she wore pulled back into a high ponytail. Melissa sometimes ran with her.

  “We’ll have our cells, too,” their dad reminded them.

  Once the paranoid adults were satisfied they’d adequately prepared Emily and Kristen and secured the premises, they slipped from the room.

  Emily and Kristen gave each other sidelong glances, trying not to break into huge smiles.

  “Party!” Trix loud-whispered between their classroom desks. She’d barely spoken to Emily in the past week, but when Emily announced her news, Trix had to make her case.

  “No way,” Emily said.

  “Oh c’mon. When are you gonna get this chance again? Just a small one. Like, 50 people.”

  The room was cold, the sleeves of Emily’s shirt too thin and too short. She could feel the desk’s cool Formica under her arms.

  She sensed Ryan three rows behind her. She could be in a stadium with thousands of people and she’d always know his coordinates in relation to hers.

  She said, “You can’t control how many people come to those things. Besides, no.” Emily would be killed if her dad found out.

  “You’re wasting your opportunity. Big house. No parents. God. If only I could be so lucky.”

  It was then that Johnson came into the room.

  Emily allowed herself one glance backward. Ryan’s eyes were locked on her.

  She whipped around toward the front, her heart pounding so hard she didn’t know how she’d focus on what Mr. Johnson was saying, hoping, as she always did, that her intestines didn’t make some horrible noise during that hour.

  Thankfully, she was able to keep her body quiet and even take a few notes during class.

  Mr. Johnson announced the Theater of the Absurd plays were due Monday and informed the class that some people would be reading theirs aloud.

  As Emily got up to leave, there was a tug at her arm. It was Ryan. “I hear you and Kristen are flying solo this weekend.”

  They were in the hallway by then, a million kids zipping past. It smelled like cafeteria pizza.

  “What? You already heard?” Emily said, biting her lip.

  “You gonna go crazy?” He pushed his brown hair off his forehead and readjusted his backpack.

  She realized as she stood there that their height difference was negligible if she slouched. This made her happy. She brushed away Melissa’s voice in her head that hissed, No one looks good stooped over.

  “Nah,” Emily said, suddenly wishing she were planning to go a little crazy.

  “Bummer. I’d like to see what Emily Lucas does with no supervision.” A few people glanced at them, sizing up what this interaction between Ryan and Emily meant. Trix slid past, her eyebrows pulled inward, her lips curled in distaste.

  The thought came to Emily in a flash, quicker than a droplet of water falling from faucet to sink: Trix is jealous.

  Emily looked away quickly and focused on the boy in front of her.

  “Oh, it’s … ” she faltered, trying to think of something clever to say, distracted by the fury in Trix’s eyes. “It wouldn’t be pretty. And anyway, I can’t. The Theater of the Absurd project? I know you’re done, but I haven’t even started.” Brilliant, Einstein. Her excuse was homework. She might as well wear a t-shirt that said, “World’s biggest dork.” Maybe she’d go to CafePress.com and have one made up.

  He said, “Write it tonight.”

  She shrugged, knowing she’d totally blown the conversation.

  As they moved apart, toward their separate classes, Ryan said, “You’ll change your mind.”

  That night, Emily sat down on her bed and pried off her boots, painfully aware that she had to finish her Theater of the Absurd play but wanting only to sta
re at the ceiling and think about her conversation with Ryan.

  She let herself lay there for a few minutes, breathing in, breathing out. There were so many better things she could’ve said than what had actually come out of her mouth. Clever, witty non sequiturs that would’ve reeled Ryan in like a docile trout.

  Then her mind began to flip through a half dozen scenarios during which she might run into him that weekend. A small get-together, maybe? On the lawn, no one allowed inside. No. No. She couldn’t. A game—wasn’t there football or something Saturday night? A meal—burgers at Dick’s. A walk along the beach—or would it be too cold?

  Finally, heaving herself off the bed and going to the computer out on the landing, she started typing a first act about two girls waiting for a phone call from a boy.

  The assignment sucked her in and the next time she looked up at the monitor’s clock, she saw an hour and a half had passed. She was just finishing the third page when Melissa trotted up the stairs. Cleaning her cell phone with a Clorox wipe, she said, “Hey. I’d rather Trix not come over while we’re gone.”

  Emily stretched and twisted around to crack her back. “Why not?”

  “Your dad and I don’t … completely … trust her.” Melissa must’ve seen Emily’s hackles rising, because she said, “I know she’s a good friend of yours. But, if you’re going to hang out, could you just meet her somewhere else?”

  “God,” she said. “I never knew you didn’t like my friends.” Truthfully, she probably wouldn’t have seen Trix anyway. Trix had been either working or hanging out with creepy Marjorie King every time Emily tried to reach out.

  Melissa tossed the wipe into a trash can, her phone dangling from one hand. “It’s not that we don’t like her. We just don’t think she has a good head on her shoulders like you do.”

  Emily thought “good head on your shoulders” was dumb phraseology. It always made her think of some neckless mutant. Maybe with one eye and no ears. She asked Melissa, “And do you ever think for yourself? Or is it all We?”

  Melissa lowered her chin and raised her brows.

  “Sorry,” Emily said. “It’s fine. I’ll just spend the weekend alone.”

  Sighing, Melissa said, “C’mon, Em.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll suspend my social life while you’re gallivanting around Canada.”

  “Oh, the drama,” Melissa said.

  Emily watched her move down the hall, petite frame swaying, black hair grazing her shoulders.

  Gag.

  She grabbed a bag of Fritos and a Diet Coke from a plastic grocery sack she kept stashed in her room, then went back to work, diving into her play with a vengeance. It wasn’t even about the grade. Writing the assignment was offering her some sort of release, some way to channel all the stuff about Marilyn Wozniak. And also Ryan, Sam, and Trix. As if tiny lightning bolts of petulance and anxiety and anticipation were shooting from her fingertips and appearing onscreen.

  And under it all ran the ticker that always accompanied her work: Would this have made Marilyn proud? If she had a chance to read it, would it make her want to come back?

  23. Everyone Wants To Be Liked

  TRIX HAD A plan. The most brilliant plan she’d hatched in a while. It would make her popular (which she had mixed feelings about, but still), increase Marjorie’s respect for her, and get her noticed by the guys she wanted to notice her. Namely, Ben, Devlin, and Ryan McElvoy. It would bring her closer to her sparkly new life.

  She’d thought of it that afternoon as she sat at one of the sewing machines in the home ec room after school.

  She was going to throw a party at Emily’s house. A fantastic bash that would put her on everyone’s social map. She wasn’t supposed to care about such things, she knew. Part of her, in fact, disdained calculated efforts to sway public opinion. But then there was the other part of her. The part that wanted to be liked.

  She couldn’t let Emily find out ahead of time, of course. It was going to be a surprise. So, on Friday afternoon, Trix breezed into the school computer lab and logged into her Facebook account. From there, she posted an event: Party at Emily Lucas’s house, 2512 Asher St. NW, tonight at 8pm. She sent it to all her “friends” at CHS, then sent a mass email to everyone else she could think of. She invited Sam, who she was hoping would somehow thwart Ryan from Emily’s path. She knew, from there, word would spread like dandelions through a meadow.

  Then she went home to get ready.

  Her mother sat on the couch, as usual, watching some crime drama while feeding David nibbles of microwave popcorn. “Mom!” Trix said. “He can’t eat that stuff.”

  “What?” her mom said, without taking her eyes off the screen. “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. What if he chokes on a kernel or something?” She scooped David up and took him into her room where he sat on her dresser and watched her change. She picked out a tight tank top, a fitted cotton jacket with big rolled cuffs and black leggings. She wore the giant hoop earrings she always had on and her wedge boots.

  She was ready to rock.

  24. Bad Scene

  EATING A BOWL of ramen noodles, Emily stood at the counter flipping through Shape magazine (Melissa’s). It was boring. Energy drink ratings. Healthy meal recipes. Workouts. And the cover model looked like she’d gotten lost on her way to a Cosmo shoot.

  Darkness pressed against the windows like waxed paper, raindrops occasionally pelting the glass. Kristen was staying at her friend Karissa’s, so Emily was alone.

  When she finished her noodles, she flicked on the stereo and found some Chairlift. She wanted to call Trix, just to see what she was doing, to alleviate the loneliness a little. But Trix had been acting so weird. Plus, she didn’t want to have to tell Trix she wasn’t allowed in the house.

  Emily set the magazine back on the stack of unopened mail and decided she would go online for a while.

  She was taking the stairs two at a time when someone knocked on the front door. Less of a knock really, and more of a fist pound.

  She paused, not knowing if she should answer.

  “It’s me, Em!” Trix’s muffled voice called. “Let me in, I’m getting soaked out here!”

  She strode to the door and pulled it open. Even though she wasn’t supposed to, she had to invite Trix in. Trix, who was dripping like a kitten that’d been found face first in a mud puddle. Maybe she was there to talk about things and explain why their friendship had seemed so strained lately. Or maybe they’d just hang out like old times, fighting over music and forgetting about the tension between them.

  Trix pulled off her ratty leopard-print coat and let it slide to the floor. She grabbed a hank of her hair and squeezed. “It’s dumping.”

  “I know.”

  Water streaked Trix’s face like tears, dripped of her lashes. “Let’s invite some people over.”

  “No!” Emily said. “God, my dad—”

  “What he doesn’t know … ”

  “I can’t invite people over.”

  “Well,” Trix said. “You can’t, but I can.”

  Emily heard a rustling outside the door and another pound. She swallowed hard and swung it open. A couple of guys from school, Isaac O’Leary, Adam Williams, Marjorie King, and three freshman girls stood there. Isaac wore a gorilla mask pushed up on top of his head and one of the girls had a devil’s ear headband. Emily glared at Trix, trying to imperceptibly shake her head.

  Trix pretended not to see. The look on Emily’s face when Isaac, Adam, and Marjorie had come in was classic. “Just, you know, an intimate gathering. A pre-Halloween soirée.”

  Emily considered turning them away, into the dark rain. But then, how lame would that make her seem? So, okay, Trix plus six kids. She could get away with that, probably, clean up really well after they left. Keep the curtains closed so Claudia wouldn’t notice.

  Emily said, “I don’t have beer or anything. Like, 7Up is the hardest stuff in the house.” She wasn’t about to get into her dad’s microbrews.

&nb
sp; Everyone looked at Adam who held a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon.

  Defeated, she stood back and let them enter. She pointed to the family room off the kitchen, but grabbed Trix’s arm. “Are you that desperate?” she hissed.

  Small flames burned where Trix’s eyes should’ve been. “I want word to get back to the Trifecta of Farkette Dunces that fun was had by all, and they weren’t invited.” That was Trix’s excuse, and she was sticking to it.

  Emily’s hand flew to her mouth. “How many people did you tell?”

  “A few others. Don’t worry so much. It’ll be fine.” She shook free of Emily’s grip, wanting to tell her to grow up, and followed the others to the back of the house.

  Emily could hear beer cans popping open. The music’s volume went up. She wished Kristen were home. She’d know what to do, how to handle this situation without pissing anyone off or getting herself in deep trouble.

  As Emily started to make her way to the others so she could lay down ground rules, the doorbell rang. She groaned. When she answered it, she saw the blond boy Trix had hooked up with at Jason Bleak’s party. He had four or five guys with him and held a bottle of gin. It wasn’t until Ben Mason showed up, someone Trix had gone out with for a few weeks and really liked, but who’d dumped her, that Emily realized what Trix was doing. Not only was she using Emily to throw Cannon High School’s biggest off-the-hook party of the year, but she was trying to play guys off each other to get attention.

  “Trix!” Emily called, looking through the rooms. But there were so many people by then that finding her was impossible.

  Above all the other heads Emily spotted Sam standing by the gas fireplace with Jason Bleak, drinking from a small, brown jug. How’d he sneak in?

  She scrambled around the house, moving fragile lamps and vases to higher ground, hiding Melissa’s laptop, and locking doors. At one point she grabbed duct tape from the garage and wrapped some around the front of the refrigerator to keep people out.